Taking Responsibility

Warning: tedious and boring curvey post ahead.

If you have not already figured this out on your own, Vox, for me, is a place to virtually say, or spill, all of the things I do not feel free to discuss in my “real” life.  Vox provides a safe blanket of anonymity so I do not really have to live with the consequences of displaying my vulnerabilities, save for the very few people who know me and know about my blog.  Those very few people I know in tangible form and trust.  And they are few.

Although I expected Vox to provide the safe forum, I did not expect to find so many truly wonderful Voxers.  I just wanted to say Thank You, neighbors, for all of your support and the kindness of holding my hair as I vomit the past all over these pages.  It has touched me.

It has also made me think.  Something I really didn’t want to do at the outset – at least consciously.  I wanted to make the mess and walk away from it.  That hasn’t happened.  Instead, your support and kind words have made me feel unworthy and led to a deeper introspection.   Maybe the introspection is just part of the natural growth that occurs in one’s 30’s, but you all provided the spark.

Anyway, your comments to my unplanned stream of thought in The Sweetest Thing bothered me a little.  And of course, I wondered why.  I think that being called strong for surviving situations that were ultimately caused by my own weaknesses is what bothered me.  I feel guilty accepting your compliments when we all ultimately create the circumstances in which we find ourselves.[1]

I have had three cruel men in my life.  The cruel boss I described in Of Warty Toads and Owls, well, there is just no accounting for him, but the other two I helped create.

Both relationships grew from my own use of them.  The Guy, my high school boyfriend, I used – initially.  He was tall, tanned and blonde.  I was very superficial in those days and, like most high school girls, placed an inordinate emphasis on physical appearance.  We looked like Ken and Barbie together and my juvenile mind liked that fact immensely.  The other use I had for Guy was that he allowed me to get out of the house and socialize. 

I came from an extremely rigid upbringing.  I was very active in extracurricular activities, but my parents would not let me go out and meet friends, or go to parties.  I could, however, go out with a steady boyfriend.  It was a 1950’s mentality.  Of course, everything they were trying to protect me from, they delivered me, gift wrapped, into.  I do think they bear some small responsibility for my becoming pregnant so early.

On the other hand, I knew exactly what I was doing.  I used the Guy to have a social life.  I did not “love” him.  He “loved” me – or his idea of me – for whatever his reasons.  I was using sex too.  I held it out in front of him like the carrot on the stick to get what I wanted.  I also used it to quietly rebel against my parents.  I was too weak to stand up to them and I thought it would be a way to break their rules without suffering the harsh punishment they meted out.[2]

I am also guilty of leading Guy to believe I would be a compliant wife.  I intended to be, initially.  I thought I had fallen from grace and deserved punishment to pay penance.  I submitted to his control and did as he wished for a great while.  I led him to believe that I would be a domestic wife, responsible for the home and child care, while he pursued his desires in the big outside world.  That is what he wanted, and I let him believe that was what he was getting.  I also intended to slowly change that and manipulate my way into getting what I wanted and what I needed.

When what he expected and what I needed began to clash, I stood up for myself only as much as was necessary to get to the next benchmark.  I let him believe he was still in control.  I let him think he was piloting the ship.  In fact, I manipulated him.  I hated him for his need to control me and I hated him for being stupid enough to be easily manipulated by me.  I stayed until I couldn’t stand to be in the same square mile as he was.  Then, I manipulated him into joining the military – not just the military, but into accepting an assignment in the military that would keep him away (under the sea) for 6 months at a time.  I never considered that the marriage was as unfulfilling for him as it was for me.  I focused only on finding a way to stay in the marriage and still get what I wanted.  I thought the answer was “sending” him away.  I thought if I only had to deal with him for 6 months of a year, I could do what I wanted the other 6 months.

When he realized my intentions, THAT is when he tried to correct the situation and tried to tighten control.  When I refused to submit to his control any longer, he began threatening to hit me.  I would laugh in the face of his threats.  I told him he was ridiculous.  I ridiculed him.  He was at his wits end and finally made good on his threats as I was leaving him.

Now, I am not saying that I am in any way responsible for creating his need to control me.  I am simply responsible for letting him believe he could control me.  This is an error I had to make twice to learn was wrong.

I didn’t learn from this experience, because I ultimately got most of what I wanted.  I wanted him gone – the government took care of that.  I wanted to be left alone and raise M the way I saw fit.  He disappeared for two years. 

I am not responsible for his attempts to control me after the divorce decree.  I am not responsible for his trying, repeatedly, to keep me from going to school.  But I am responsible for him failing where I led him to believe he could succeed.  He was not content to accept the defeat even after I was free from him.  He wanted to let me know I would never be free.  He failed at that too.

As for Art.  We had a very useful, symbiotic relationship in the beginning.  Though it was never articulated, we both knew the score.  I used him for his money.  He used me for my looks.  I wanted an easier way to get through school without working my fingers to the bone.  He wanted arm candy that was also smart enough to make him look good and could advance his business.  For two years, we mutually provided what each other needed.  The problem for him in the end was fear.  He spent A LOT of money to keep me.  A lot more than he needed to and in the end, more than he had. 

He believed I was with him for the rock-n-roll lifestyle he lived.  He wanted that lifestyle too.  But, he believed he had to have and spend lots of money to keep me.  I never told him that.  I never led him to believe that.  It was his own insecurity that made him believe that.  During the third year, his business started to suffer.  His spending did not decrease when his income did.  Partly out of fear of losing me, partly from his own stupidity.

I was oblivious to his troubles.  He didn’t tell me.  I didn’t see.  I knew he had put me on a pedestal of his own creation.  I did not expect him to come to hate me for it.  He felt he couldn’t measure up.  He felt he didn’t deserve me.  In truth, he didn’t.  I am not responsible for his mental snap and descent into Crazytown.  But, I am responsible for taking his abuse.  I am responsible for staying even after he started abusing me.  I am responsible for accepting his “apology” gifts and grand gestures he could not afford.  I sold myself knowingly as a punching bag in order to get what I wanted.  I wanted to graduate.  I wanted to pass the bar.  I made a willing trade.  I did not knowingly agree to trade my very life for it.  But, perhaps, it was my own failure to perceive that he would go that far.

In fact, his eventual stalking, severe violence, and threats made me question my ability to judge character.  It made me question my intelligence.  It shattered my confidence.  I weakly gave in to thoughts that I truly deserved it.  It took me 8 years to regain my confidence.  It took me 8 years to be able to hold my head up.  That is not strength, that is weakness.  I was/am weak.  I am not strong.

After the Art fiasco, I did learn never to give another control, or the perception of control, of my life again.  That is not a mistake I will ever repeat. 

When Ex came into my life, he provided a safe harbor for me to retreat into.  I knew he would never lift a finger against me.  I also knew he wasn’t smart enough to make me doubt my intelligence.  The problem with Ex was that the pendulum had swung to the other extreme.  He refused to take control of anything.  He left it all for me.  I took it.  I controlled everything.  I didn’t abuse the control.  I tried to improve his life.  I tried to better his circumstance, to fill in the gaps in his education, to teach him to recognize opportunity.  He wasn’t interested.  He wanted stability and for someone else to take care of everything.  I did. 

We had no deep connection except for having both experienced Art’s reign of terror.  Once that fear was gone, we did not have a bond.  We did not share our vulnerabilities or our wants, needs, desires.  All of those went unvoiced and consequently, unfulfilled.  I have learned that my inability to be vulnerable to him made him feel unworthy.  I cloaked myself in armor.  He knew he couldn’t reach me.  He didn’t even try. 

So now, after over 20 years of hiding, after working so hard to construct a façade of invulnerability of strength and near perfection, I am ready to be the whole me.  I am indeed weak.  I have insecurities.  I also have strengths.  I am not a superwoman.  I am not wholly strong.  I am not invincible.  I can be hurt.  I am ready to allow myself the opportunity to experience real loss and real reward.  I am finally ready to be able to come into “my own.”  I realize I can stand on my own and don’t need anyone else to justify my actions, provide protection, or make my life easier.  I can do that all myself. 

All I want, eventually, is a partner; someone who could take care of themselves, but actually WANTS to be with me.  I want a partner I want to be with.  Someone I want to share joy with, to have fun with, and have a real open relationship with. 

For now, I am happy.  I am happy on my own.  I am happy being responsible for myself and no one else.  I am happy working; I am happy playing. 

So fellow Voxers, I am strong and I am weak.  We all are.  I am not some incredible creature.  I am human.  I am no better or less than any of you or anybody else.  We all make choices and we all work through the consequences.  Making really bad choices doesn’t make you any more spectacular for dealing with the malconsequences[3] of those choices.

Alright, peace out and thanks for listening to the things I needed to verbalize in order to let them go.  You will now find most of my baggage in Lost and Found, as I no longer need to carry it around.